


How Can You Swallow So Much Sleep

by iceberry



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Insomnia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8418139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceberry/pseuds/iceberry
Summary: Robert has always had trouble sleeping. It's new to Abe.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn't sure how to tag for this, but warn for implied-but-not-explicit discussion of ptsd?

Robert has never been particularly adept at falling asleep. His father tells him that when he was young, he would climb out of the bed he shared with his older siblings and walk to his parents’ room, tug on his father’s sleeve, and whisper to him that he couldn’t sleep. It never grew better as he grew older, he just learned that it wasn’t worth the exertion of getting up at night. His father could offer kind words, rub his back, but couldn’t put him to sleep. Robert learned tricks – he would run through every prayer and psalm he knew in his mind, and if that wasn’t enough he would count until his thoughts were too heavy.

He thought the worst of it was when he first moved to York City to run the boarding house. Robert had grown up in a quiet corner of Oyster Bay, where the loudest noises he would hear at night were the croaks of frogs in the summer, or the hoot of an owl. He recalls with a grimace the first week spent there, staring at the ceiling as the sounds of low conversation from across the hall and wagon wheels over cobblestones ricocheted around his head. However, Townsend adapted, and the time he spent tossing side-to-side gradually decreased, and he was able to rest as well as one can in a city that large.

Until Abraham Woodhull walked in the door.

Suddenly paranoia is weighing on his back because there’s a  _ spy  _ under his roof, and then  _ he’s  _ the spy, worrying that the British know what he’s doing, and it’s only a matter of time before he’s caught. And then it’s thoughts of guilt and sacrifice that keep him awake above the coffeehouse, and finally a resolution. 

So, a hint of amusement crosses his face when Abe asks him, “Have you ever had trouble sleeping?” The farmer tilts his head, mildly agitated at Robert’s expression, but the irritation is dampened by his clear exhaustion. “What?”

“All my life,” Robert says. “I didn’t mean that your problems were humorous, there’s just a touch of irony in it for me.” 

They fall into an uncomfortable silence. Abe stands up, pushes a trunk that rests by the bed further into the corner, sits back down. Sitting still seems to be a monumental effort for him, more so than usual, and he stands back up, walks over to the window and looks out, pulls the curtain closed on the nighttime, and looks back to where Robert is perched on the edge of the bed.

For reasons he’s chosen not to disclose yet, Abe still hasn’t moved back to Whitehall. Thomas is back with Mary there, but Abraham has been sleeping alone in the slave quarters next to the framework of his new house. It’s a dingy little room, and Robert has to bite his tongue not to suggest that perhaps the reason he hasn’t been sleeping well is because he refuses to move out of this dilapidated place.

Abe is looking at him expectantly, and looks like he’s about to open his mouth, but stands back up and puts another log in the fireplace.

“Would you like to talk?” Robert hazards a guess of what Abe wants from him. The rationale for his visit is that Abraham wanted to ensure he understood everything that had happened in Setauket but didn’t feel as though it could be explained as well through a letter. And while there was a certain amount of rationale behind that, especially since Simcoe is no longer of concern here, it’s rapidly becoming clear that Abe invited him here for something else. Now whether the farmer even knows why is certainly debatable. 

He scrutinizes Abraham as he moves back over to sit next to Robert on the bed. He’s lost weight, and the dark circles under his eyes only add to the gaunt look his face has taken on since Townsend last saw him. Involuntarily, his chest tightens – with worry, with fondness? It is hard for him to pinpoint it. But as the bed sinks down under Abe’s weight and their fingers brush, he’s reminded of the other ways he’s lost sleep over Abraham Woodhull.

Abe’s fingers inch over, and tentatively wrap themselves around Robert’s hand.

“Woodhull-,” he starts.

They haven’t  _ talked  _ about it, but it felt like they’d come to some understanding about this…  _ thing _ between them. That yes, it is there, but Abraham is married and Robert is in New York, and they’re both spies and there is a war going on and everything is so  _ precarious _ . But Abe tightens his grip, and Townsend relents for the moment. Abe clearly isn’t  _ well _ ; it’s written in every line of his face and his restlessness. Perhaps it isn’t physical, but maybe that is all the more reason to put his worries down about this for the moment.

“I almost died,” Abe says, suddenly, voice dry. Robert knows this, as Woodhull already relayed the events of the trial to him, albeit in a lilting, detached fashion. 

“You have almost died several times,” he points out. It’s not meant to trivialize that this time has shaken Abraham more, he just genuinely doesn’t understand. Prison didn’t break Woodhull.  _ And he’s not broken now either, _ Robert thinks, but Abe opens his mouth, struggling to find the words. Perhaps this is why the earlier retelling was so detached - he has yet to truly confront it.

“My  _ son  _ was there,” he gets out after a moment. “My son almost watched me hang, and every night I lay down, and try to sleep, and all I can think of is him looking at me and the feel of the rope around my neck.” It comes out all at once, an exhalation. “When I close my eyes, I’m back up there and they’re putting the noose around my neck and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Robert can’t help but glance at Woodhull’s neck, where  a ring of skin rubbed raw is still healing. He’s lost for words for a moment, but places his other hand on top of Abraham’s. The pain in his chest is both painfully vague and horridly specific. No one deserves a punishment like that. And that’s it’s Abraham Woodhull telling him this - cocky, irritating, unstoppable Abraham Woodhull - makes it even more jarring. He suddenly feels vulnerable just by association. 

“I’m not afraid to die,” Abraham continues. “I know this is something I have to be prepared for. Doing what we do.” 

“We are all afraid to die,” Robert responds, softly. The quaker has also never been particularly adept at offering advice, but for some reason, the contradiction seems to loosen something in Abe. He slumps against Townsend, head leaning on his shoulder as he stares forward into the fire. What else can he say? He doesn’t know if Abraham will get better - though the thought of him not getting better is too much to consider right now. He was not the one up there on the platform.

“I’m sorry for placing all of this on you,” Abe says, and Robert just responds by tightening his grip on Abe’s hand. He’s not sure he could reply any other way. This is so different from any other time they’ve spoken that he’s been caught unawares. He’s used to their verbal jabs across draughts, dry humor, yelling at Abraham for one reason or another (but almost always deserved). And suddenly he’s just bared his entire heart to Robert, an intimacy that leaps from the few times Abe has stolen kisses from him to something he’s unsure he’s shared with anyone  _ ever _ . But the same intimacy that makes Abe’s pain his own warms him a little when he realizes that Abe chose to tell  _ him  _ this, not anyone else.

They sit in silence for a bit; the only noise comes from the crackling of the fire and Abraham’s attempts to calm his breathing.

“Will you stay the night?” Abe asks suddenly, the exhaustion in his voice layered with a bit of hopefulness.

“Here?” Robert asks. It’s a foolish question, but he feels like he’s just been snapped out of a strange reverie.

“I think it would help me fall asleep,” Abe mumbles, rubbing his temples. He seems a bit embarrassed by the request. Robert begins to run through reasons he shouldn’t stay - his father is expecting him back by tonight, he has the long ride back to York City tomorrow, there’s not a chance he’ll be able to fall asleep here - and then promptly throws them out the window.

“Alright.”

()

Abe seems much smaller curled up next to him like this, pressed up tightly against his side. His breathing is steady now, though it was erratic when he first laid down, and his eyes would burst open every few moments, like he was running away from having to see whatever displayed itself on the inside of his eyelids. 

Robert has ceased even trying to sleep. There’s far too much going through his head right now. Worries about Abe, worries about Benedict Arnold and the danger that the whole ring is in. He’s no longer worried that he made the wrong choice by forgiving Abe and returning to the ring. Laying here, he knows that this war is bigger than him, or Abraham - but perhaps fighting for this moment is enough too.

Robert rests his arm across Abe’s side, letting his fingers brush the small of his companion’s back. He lays in the dark and lets the sounds of the embers and Abraham’s breathing wash over him. In its own way, this is rest.

**Author's Note:**

> i've been having sleep troubles lately, so it's been weighing on my mind a lot. robert seems to me like he'd be a super light sleeper, and honestly, abe's pile of issues doubled after s3's finale lmao. comments loved and appreciated as always, unbeta'd and posted way later than i should be up so let me know what i fucked up lol. talk to me about these two im @terumiafuro on tumblr


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